


A Study in Braids and Half-Brothers

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Series: Composite AUs: Mallory and More [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Familial Fluff, Gen, In which Martin and Sherlock are half-brothers, In which Martin has a daughter while at MJN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 18:12:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a layover in London, Martin takes Mallory to visit his half-brother, Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Braids and Half-Brothers

Martin and Mallory stood in front of 221B Baker Street and wondered if they were in the right place. Martin retrieved a scrap of paper from his pocket and cautiously stepped towards the open door. The numbers and letter on the door matched the address written on his paper. Martin glanced up and down the street before stuffing the paper back into his pocket and peering into the empty entryway. 

He stepped inside slowly, Mallory holding on tightly to his hand.

“Hello?” Martin called out. “Is anybody here?”

Martin was answered by heavy footsteps and muffled conversation coming from the floor above them. He gave Mallory a reassuring smile and the two of them went, hand in hand, up the stairs.

The conversation, which sounded more like an argument, grew louder as they made their way to the second floor. An open door at the top of the stairs looked into some sort of living room. Martin and Mallory hovered on the landing as Martin looked around for the source of the voices.

A man with blond hair came into the room, shaking his head and calling back to somewhere deeper in the flat.

“I still don’t understand _why_ you had to-”

The man’s words and stride came to halt when he saw Martin and Mallory standing on the landing.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Sorry, we, we were looking for Sherlock and the door downstairs was open...” Martin said, gesturing back towards the stairs.

The man rolled his eyes. “It would be,” he muttered. “Sherlock!” he called out as he had before. “You forgot to close the door again!” He turned back to Martin and Mallory. “Come on in,” he said, smiling warmly. “Are you here about a case?”

“A case?” Martin asked, helping Mallory out of her coat.

“Something for Sherlock to investigate?” the man asked. He pointed to a red armchair and Martin draped their coats over the back of it. “You did say you were looking for Sherlock?”

“Oh, yes, we, we are but not, not for anything like that. We just popped in to say ‘hello.’” Knowing Sherlock, Martin wasn’t surprised when the man’s brow raised skeptically. He started to explain, “I’m-”

Sherlock swooped in at that moment, cutting between them and the man, giving cursory glances to each of them. He acknowledged Martin with a small nod and went to sit at a table below a cow skull wearing headphones.

“John, this is my brother Martin.”

“Brother?” John asked in confusion. “You have a brother who isn’t Mycroft?”

“Well, half-brother,” Martin explained, knowing Sherlock wasn’t likely to. He extended his hand to John. “Martin Crieff.”

“John Watson,” John said with a firm shake.

“And this is my daughter Mallory.” Martin looked down at his daughter, half hidden behind his legs. “Say ‘hello,’ Gosling.”

“Hi,” Mallory said quietly.

John knelt to bring himself down to Mallory’s height. He made his own introduction while Sherlock watched from the table behind him. Sherlock’s eyes were fixed to their interaction and Martin incorrectly assumed he was studying John.

“Martin, your wife died eleven months ago,” Sherlock said curtly. “That’s more than a sufficient amount of time to learn the simple task of braiding hair yet your daughter looks like she’s being tended to by something lacking opposable thumbs.”

“Sherlock!” John scolded.

“It, it’s all right,” Martin assured him, flushing a little at Sherlock’s comment on Mallory’s hair. It was true; despite many, many attempts, Martin still hadn’t gotten the hang of braiding hair. He shrugged at a visibly upset John. “The fact that he mentioned her is his way of showing he cares.”

“Cares?” John asked skeptically. “You know Sherlock _sees_ everything, right?”

“Yeah,” Martin shrugged again, “but he only points out the things he wants you to know he sees.”

Sherlock got up and moved to the couch.

“Come here,” he said, calling Mallory to him. Mallory moved around to the other side of Martin, putting her father between her and Sherlock, and clung to his legs. “Come here now,” Sherlock said again.

Martin looked down at the scared look on Mallory’s face. He unwound her from his legs and knelt beside her.

“It’s all right, Gosling,” he said with a smile. “Go sit with Sherlock, he won’t hurt you.”

Martin gave Mallory a gentle push in Sherlock’s direction. She looked back at him and he nodded encouragingly. Holding on to his hand until the very last moment, Mallory moved hesitantly toward Sherlock. She took a seat next to him on the couch and, without a word, Sherlock went to work, removing the ties from her hair and straightening out the messy attempt at braids.

Martin and John got to their feet.

“I’m very sorry to hear about your wife,” said John.

“Thank you. It’s been rough,” Martin admitted, “but we, we’re all right. As Sherlock said, it’s been almost a year now and I, I think we, we’ve adjusted as best we can.”

Martin couldn’t help but smile as he watched the unusual sight of Sherlock brushing his daughter’s hair. Mallory’s expression had changed from wary to the confusion most people wore when they first met Sherlock.

“Still must be hard,” said John, drawing Martin’s attention back to him. “Raising a little girl on your own.”

“I’ve got help,” Martin assured him. “I wouldn’t be able to do it on my own. We live in the same city as my in-laws and my co-workers are surprisingly helpful.”

“What do you do?”

“Martin is a pilot,” Sherlock answered. “He works for a small airline that he sometimes refers to as an ‘airdot’ as a joke.”

“‘Airdot’?” John asked.

“We’ve only got one plane.” Martin grinned sheepishly, “Can’t put one plane in a line.”

“Clever,” John chuckled.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Airlines are airlines regardless of how many planes they have,” he commented with disdain. “There. Better.”

Martin and John looked back to the couch, both a bit taken aback by the new state of Mallory’s hair. Her wavy red hair had been parted in the middle and woven into neat, taut French braids that ran down either side of her head. Mallory ran her fingers over the braids and looked up at Sherlock with a bit of cautious wonder.

“You do that a lot better than Daddy does.”

“Of course,” Sherlock smirked.

“Sherlock, how did you-” John started to ask.

“It was for a case, John,” he answered quickly.

John folded his arms over his chest. “Not any case that I’ve seen. And even if it was, why haven’t you deleted something as seemingly useless as how to braid hair?”

“Why are you here, Martin?” Sherlock asked, changing the subject and ignoring the smug grin on John’s face. “Have you reconsidered Mycroft’s proposal about her schooling?”

“Mallory’s schooling is taken care of, Sherlock.”

Sherlock glanced at Mallory. “I doubt Mycroft would consider your homeschooling as ‘taken care of.’”

Martin gaped at John who could only shrug his shoulders.

“How did you know-” Martin sighed when the look on Sherlock’s face told him exactly how Sherlock had known; he’d deduced it. “It doesn’t matter. Mallory’s schooling is fine, Sherlock,” he insisted. “Tell Mycroft I haven’t changed my mind about that.”

“Tell him yourself,” Sherlock said, frowning at the thought of interacting with Mycroft. “Although I doubt you’ll need to, with the amount of surveillance he keeps on each of us.”

“What do you do, John?” Martin asked, changing the subject. “Are you a private investigator-”

“Consulting detective,” Sherlock corrected.

Martin rolled his eyes and John grinned. “Sorry. Are you a consulting detective like Sherlock?”

“No. I was a doctor in the army. Now I help Sherlock with his cases; gather evidence, give him someone to talk to and bounce ideas off of, keep people from killing him.”

“Full time job, then?”

“Nonstop, actually,” John chuckled. “He’s also my flatmate.”

Martin and John laughed, their muffled chuckles growing into full-bodied laughs when Sherlock shot them both looks of contempt. Sherlock slumped back on the couch with a bit of a sulk.

“What’s a consulting detective?” Mallory asked, hoping to make herself heard over Martin and John’s giggles.

“It’s what I do,” Sherlock answered. “I’m the only one in the world. I invented the job.”

Martin wasn’t surprised when Mallory turned to him and John, still confused following Sherlock’s vague answer.

“Do you know what mysteries are?” John asked. Mallory nodded. “Sherlock helps the police solve mysteries,” he explained.

“Like Basil,” Martin added, “in the Great Mouse Detective.”

“Oh,” Mallory said softly. Her brow scrunched up in thought. She turned to Sherlock. “Do you solve all the mysteries?”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded.

“Most,” John said under his breath.

“You must be really, really smart,” Mallory observed.

Sherlock sat up. A small but genuine smile warmed his face and, to Martin and John’s surprise, he pat Mallory lightly on her head.

“She’s a bright child, Martin. Perhaps I underestimated the quality of your homeschooling.”


End file.
